An Unheard Goodbye
by Lake of Rage
Summary: (MAJOR UNWOUND FUTURE SPOILERS) Oneshot. Claire leaves her love behind and travels back to her own time. As the time machine materializes around her, she leaves one final goodbye that no one is around to hear. Clershel (Claire X Professor Layton)


Luke had always harbored some nagging suspicion that something was special about the Professor's hat.

It wasn't just that he never took the thing off; that was understandable. Luke would rather not remove his own, after all, so he wasn't one to judge. The things that tipped him off were more subtle—things he wouldn't have noticed were he even a smidge less observant.

For one thing, the Professor did more than just keep the hat on, he seemed almost scared to take it off. If wind blew, if they drove over a bump in the road, or even if he was running to catch up with a criminal, he reacted immediately. He never shielded his face, eased off the gas, or sped up to assure that he caught the crook; he grabbed the brim of his hat to keep it from falling off. The number of times that Luke had seen him do so was astounding. It was as if the hat was keeping him alive, and he would die if it was removed.

Second of all, he seemed to pay it a lot of mind besides just holding it to his head. Every time he discovered that he hadn't solved a puzzle correctly, he would tug down the brim so that it obscured his eyes from view. It seemed more like a habit than anything, despite the fact that he rarely got puzzles wrong in the first place. Whenever he met a person, he would also take a hold on the brim and offer a tip of the hat. Luke had caught him tipping his hat in various other situations, some of which seemed far too dire for such an act.

That wasn't even counting the way that the Professor spoke about it. Even he admitted that gentlemen could go against the "gentleman's code," so to speak, but one thing he remained adamant about was that he wouldn't be a gentleman if he took the hat off. Luke had overheard him refer to his hat in an affectionate manner at least thrice, and each time he had been smiling, but a sad smile—one that wouldn't look out-of-place on a man who was reminiscing on sorrowful memories.

Ever since Luke had concluded that it must have been a gift from some former friend, perhaps one who had died, he had wondered who had given it to him and why. Sure, it was a nice hat, but it didn't seem to be the sort of thing you would just give to a casual acquaintance, or even to a familiar friend. Besides, if he cherished the hat so, then he must have cherished its giver even more. Assuming that his theory on the gift-giver being dead was correct, it couldn't have been from either of his parents; they were both alive and well.

Even though he asked himself these questions time and again, he never really expected to get answers. After all, he couldn't just ask the Professor; that would be insensitive. And it wasn't as if the giver could tell him if they were dead, right?

Right?

* * *

Claire could feel the tears on her cheeks even though she wasn't truly here anymore. Already, her body was beginning to vanish, redirecting itself to her proper time period. Some part deep within her told her that she needed to stay, for it knew that there was no way for her to survive this last trip. She would arrive only milliseconds before the building was nearly leveled by a great blast, leaving only one miraculous survivor. That survivor would be Bill Hawkes, not her. _You can stay here with Hershel, _that part of her whispered, making a very convincing argument.

And, oh, she _wanted_ to. She dearly wished to remain here with the one she loved. Surely, she could stop her own tears and his by doing so, and they could finally be together again. They could move to a country far away to escape the questions of dozens, all of whom thought her to be dead. They could be happy with each other.

...but she was just being selfish. Hershel had a life now; he had friends—_family. _If she stayed any longer, she would only cause him trouble and, inevitably, more pain when she passed away again. At least she could rest peacefully if she left now, knowing that he had moved on. Besides, the time machine was too unstable, and she was afraid that she could severely alter the time-space continuum and possibly ruin the universe if she lingered. No, she had to go, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Her throat was dry, and still she managed to force out words. "You've taken awfully good care of that hat I gave you," she murmured, both to herself and to the crying man in front of her. She didn't have to fake a smile; all she had to do was think of the day when she first handed it over and he placed it on his head. Then it came naturally to her. Hershel was a true gentleman if there ever was one, after all, and he deserved more than a fake smile.

And still she cried as she walked away. Her body was glowing with an ethereal light, and she could almost feel the particles in her being rearranging themselves. Each step was forced, as if her legs had been switched from autopilot to manual. Hershel cried out, pleaded with her not to leave him again. _Take another step, _she told herself, and she did so, barely. _Another. Another. Stop_. Slowly, trying feebly to elongate her time here as much as possible, Claire turned and looked back at him, their two tearful sets of eyes meeting. She took a deep breath and mustered up all the willpower she owned. _Think of when you met him. Think of when he asked you out. Think of when you first held hands. _She smiled again.

"I'll miss you..." she whispered, her words carried to him on a breath of London's breeze, "and our unwound future."

_Now turn away_. She could barely stand it, and she almost wheeled right back around and sprinted into his arms. _Take a step. _She couldn't remember a time when she was more terrified. If she left now, then she'd never see him again._ Another. _There was still time to turn back. _Another. _Didn't she have the right to be happy? Or was she cursed to remain distraught for the remainder of her time alive?_ Another. Turn the corner. _Had her vision always been this blurry? How long had she been standing in a room of nothingness?

Everything flowed by around her, giving her one last glimpse of London. She saw Hershel and the little boy, Luke, walking through Kensington. Images of Dimitri and Clive working on the fake future London flashed past as quickly as light, yet still left her with a full image in her brain. The nothingness around her was fading now, and the scenery was rearranging itself, building the walls of the time machine around her.

Another round of tears escaped her eyes. Logic dictated that no one in the future could hear her now, but she needed to leave one last message to the Earth. _Hershel_, she despaired as the last few pieces clicked into place, _I love y—_

An explosion rocked the earth.


End file.
